


Ça Recommence

by ranichi17



Series: we are going around in circles [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Groundhog Day, Time Loop, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranichi17/pseuds/ranichi17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius Pontmercy keeps on waking up on the dawn of the 5th of June 1832, plagued by the unending nightmare of seeing his friends' deaths. There is nowhere else to go but the barricades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I: Through the Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PilferingApples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilferingApples/gifts).



> Sometimes I really hate being a slave at my plot bunnies' beck and call.

_“If you don't have time to do it right, when will you have time to do it over?” — John Wooden_

 

_Smoke billowed around him, suffocating him, and yet it is the only thing that conceals him away from sight. The National Guard fired at them from every direction, the barricade long since overrun. From the corner of his eye, he saw Courfeyrac felled by the ricocheting grapeshot, but he had no time to grieve, not yet. Suddenly, a bullet pierced his collarbone, and he could feel his consciousness slipping away. At that moment, with his eyes already closed, waiting for death, he felt a strong but seemingly gentle hand grab him. “They have taken me prisoner, and I will surely be shot.”_

Marius Pontmercy awoke with a jolt, and found his friend’s green eyes staring at him.

“I see you have decided to wake up, my friend. I was worried when I did not see you return last night,” Édouard de Courfeyrac greeted, his face still leaned in close to Marius’.

Then, upon seeing the shocked look on his friend’s face, he asked. “What’s wrong? Did your amour reject you? Why, you look as if all the humours have been drained from your body.”

Marius blinked, as if breaking out of a trance. “The funeral?”

“Is today. Are you coming with us? Enjolras and the others are waiting outside.”

Marius arose from the mattress. “I saw you die, Édouard.” He sat up from the mattress and grabbed Courfeyrac’s arm to prevent him from leaving. “The revolution failed.”

“Which means that we will succeed. Prouvaire once told me that in some cultures, they believed that dreams tell us the reverse of what is to come.” Courfeyrac laughed as he tried to loosen Marius’ grip.

A dream. That’s what it was, nothing more. It was still the 5th of June. His Cosette has not left him. His friend is still alive. Marius breathed a sigh of relief, and let go of Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac huffed in mock annoyance. “Come now, you have ruined the sleeve of my new coat.” He smiled at his friend. “Then, I will see you in a republic later.” With that, Édouard de Courfeyrac reached for his sword cane and left. Marius stood alone in the middle of the room, hoping that Courfeyrac is right.

 

He wandered around the city, taking a different route from the one in his dream. At around noon, he turned back, stopping only at the baker’s shop to buy a loaf of bread. This he feasted on when he reached the apartment at Rue de la Verrerie.

When he finished, he started once again on his aimless walk when the portress caught up to him as he was turning around the avenue corner.

“Monsieur Pontmercy!”

“What’s the matter? What do you want?”

“There is someone looking for you.”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, where is he?”

“In my lodgings.”

At the same time, a small freckled creature emerged from the portress’s lodge. It was that unhappy girl, Éponine, clothed in what Marius realised was the same worker’s clothes she had worn in his dream. All at once, he saw a vision of it in his mind. Éponine, covered in her own blood, who took for herself the bullet meant for him, her dying confession of love, _the letter_.

He needed a moment to stop himself from shaking before he spoke. “Have you a letter for me?”

The child bit her lip before affirming it. “I – yes. It’s from your beloved, Monsieur.” She hastily gave him the letter before turning to leave. “Pardon, Monsieur. I shouldn’t have come here.”

Marius halted her. “Stay with the portress, Éponine. The streets are not safe. There are riots today.”

Éponine hesitated, while their portress protested until Marius gave her five francs to do what he requested of her.

 

Marius did not go to Rue Plumet that night. He had no doubt Cosette’s letter contained the message that she was no longer there, even if he had not opened it yet. Instead, he went to Rue de la Chanvrerie, for he determined to save Courfeyrac’s life as he did Éponine’s.

Marius arrived to witness the barricade being overtaken. He was too late to save them, and he cursed himself for believing in his seemingly prophetic dreams.

Bahorel was shot as he tried to raise the flag, hailing the Republic as he fell, defiant to the end. The place descended to chaos soon afterward. Courfeyrac was hit by a bullet as he tried to shield Gavroche. This was in vain, for the bullet traversed through his body and also hit the gamin. Enjolras died alongside Combeferre as they were fighting the National Guards atop the barricade.

Marius himself was taken before he had the chance to find out the fates of the remaining insurgents. He was swiftly executed by a firing squad. “Just like Prouvaire,” he thinks as the report sounds.

 

It is when he wakes up once again on the dawn of June 5th that he begins to doubt if everything is really a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to blame anyone, blame Pilf's nonnies for placing this firmly in my mind.
> 
> Don't worry, I'm not abandoning my other on-going stories for this.
> 
> The title comes from a line in “La Journée est Finie.”


	2. II: What You See is What You Get

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marius is still an oblivious blockhead, and some events are altered.

On the dawn of June 5th, Marius Pontmercy awoke from a nightmare, or from what he thought was certainly one.

As in his dream, Courfeyrac greeted him with an invitation to join them in the funeral procession. This time he agreed, and as he remembered the riot from his nightmare, he took with him the two pistols Inspector Javert gave him before the Gorbeau robbery.

 

At the Rue de l’Ouest, a boy with a triggerless pistol joined them. It was the little Thénardier, Gavroche, he remembered, and along with his recollection of the gamin's name was that vision of his broken, bloodied body lying wide-eyed on the street. Marius tried to convince the boy to leave, but to no avail. Instead, Gavroche asked him for one of his pistols, “since he had one during the ’30 revolution.” Marius reluctantly obliged, if only to give the boy something resembling protection.

Courfeyrac laughed at this scene, and when it had ended, he went and patted Marius on the shoulder. “That’s Gavroche for you, Monsieur L'Abbé. Don’t worry about him, he’s a fine shot.”

         

Their ragged band augmented at every moment. On the Rue des Billettes, a man of lofty stature, whose face Marius did not clearly see, joined them. Gavroche, who was preoccupied with toying about Marius’ pistol, and singing vulgar ditties of his own creation, took no notice of the newcomer’s arrival.

When they reached the Rue de la Verrerie, Courfeyrac took his leave of them, as he had forgotten his purse and lost his hat again. Marius, who remembered that in his dream, Éponine was waiting for him in their lodgings, volunteered to fetch the said articles for his friend.

The dream, of course, was right. As Marius descended from the steps, hat and purse in his arms, Mother Veuvain halted him to say that he had a guest waiting for his return. It was Éponine, wearing a worker’s clothing, no doubt exchanged with the first man she saw. It was ill-fitting, but the change in clothing suited her much better than her old rags.

Marius’ conversation with the gamine had gone the same way as it had in his dream. Only, instead of making her stay with the portress, Marius asked Éponine to deliver his letter to Cosette. Éponine’s face fell at this request. Nevertheless, she agreed, and she left with Marius’ letter stashed in one of the pockets of her oversized coat. Marius had shouted his gratitude to her slowly disappearing figure, but whether Éponine heard him or not, she gave no indication.

 

When Marius returned to Courfeyrac’s side, he noticed that M. Mabeuf had joined their number. Surprised, Marius approached the octogenarian.

“M. Mabeuf, please go home.”

“Why, M. Marius!”

“M. Mabeuf, go home. There is to be a row.”

“That is fine, M. Marius.”

“There will be a shooting, M. Mabeuf.”

“That is well.”

“They will fire cannons.”

“That is alright. But, pray tell me, where are the rest of you going, M. Marius?”

“We are going to overthrow the government, M. Mabeuf.”

“That is good.”

It was the end of the matter. M. Mabeuf had set out to join them, and no amount of persuasion from Marius would prevent him from doing so.

As their group saw M. Mabeuf joining their march, a rumour soon spread among the students that an old member of the Convention had joined them. This, of course, was false, and anyone who knew the octogenarian could testify to this.

         

A mob does not go where it originally intends to. A gust of wind blows it away to a new direction. Thus Marius’ group skipped Saint-Merry, and instead found itself building a barricade at the Rue de la Chanvrerie, on Bossuet’s suggestion.

The Rue Saint-Denis was in fact a place most suited to have built a barricade. Its entrances widened out on one side and on the other, narrowed into a pocket without an exit. The Corinthe created an obstacle, the Rue Mondetour barricaded on the right, and no attack was possible except from the Rue Saint-Denis, that is to say, from the front.

 

Mother Hucheloup was indignant at the students building a barricade around her establishment, but that didn’t stop them from including her tables and chairs to their barricade. The poor woman merely threw her hands up the air in defeat. Meanwhile, the inebriated Grantaire was left with the table on which he was sleeping off the alcohol in his system, Enjolras having judged said table too small to be of use to the barricade.

Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac were directing everything, and the barricades they have constructed looked exactly like the ones Marius saw in his dream.

The tall man who had joined them in the Rue des Billettes was now making himself useful by helping in the construction of the smaller barricade.

Gavroche was helping in the construction of the larger barricade. The workers grumbled when Gavroche told them to place a glass door at the front of the barricade, but they still did so. This having been accomplished, Gavroche merrily skipped to the heart of the Corinthe to help the men in their manufacture of ammunition.

Enjolras had apparently not judged Bahorel to be cautious around a gun, and instead delegated him in the press’ productions.

Marius had not noticed Éponine slip inside the blockade. She did not expect him to do so, and she hid herself behind the men producing ammunition. Marius himself was helping in the construction of the larger barricade.

 

After they are satisfied that their barricade will hold out an assault, they rest. Jehan Prouvaire has taken to reciting his verses, with his friends as an audience. It is the same one he recited in his dream, Marius realised.

Enjolras did not join them, however, and is standing at the top of the barricade, keeping watch like the archangel going to war.

 

The man who joined them at the Rue des Billettes passed in front of Marius, and in a flash, Marius recognised him as Inspector Javert, the very man who gave him the two pistols. He had no doubt that the inspector was a spy. This he told Courfeyrac, who quickly passed it on to Enjolras. His cover having been blown, Inspector Javert struggled before he is disarmed by the students, and tied to a post, his fate to be judged later.

         

The first part of the battle started soon after the scuffle with the Inspector. This time, Bahorel is not the first to fall. Feuilly who was one of those defending the top of the barricade, falls off it, arms locked together with a National Guard who tried to shoot Gavroche. Shots ring in the air when they hit the ground, and neither of them climb back up. Gavroche, wide-eyed, is dragged back to the safety of the wine shop by Courfeyrac.

There are other differences. It is Joly whom the soldiers capture and execute. The words “Vive la France” are heard before the tell-tale shot. Bossuet, reckless with grief, followed his friend soon after when he is stabbed in the back with a bayonet.

M. Mabeuf died in an attempt to put up the flag, as in Marius’ dream. Marius shudders when the old man who loved peace and introduced him to his father falls.

Marius once again tried to hold off the attack with gunpowder, but this time Éponine is not shot by the bullet meant for him, as none of the soldiers saw him preparing the gunpowder.

 

The assault on the barricade ended soon after Marius made his threat, and they are left with peace for the rest of the night. They knew, however, that this peace would not last, and that for most of them, it will be their last night. Courfeyrac, hiding his grief beneath his usual smile, started the song of their camaraderie, for unlike in Marius' dream, Grantaire is asleep on his little table at the corner of the café to start it. Courfeyrac passes a bottle of wine to Bahorel after he finishes a line of song and soon, everyone joined in the chorus and the mood of their little band lightened.

 

M. Fauchelevent arrived once more with the fifth uniform, and they manage to save five men from death. In gratitude, Enjolras granted him his request to have Javert. Marius’ blood ran cold when he hears the shot.

 

Dawn came hand in hand with death a few hours later, and everyone welcomed her with open arms. Gavroche is not the only one to die in the attempt to recover ammunition. Courfeyrac ran after the boy who was so much like a little brother to him, and he dies in the attempt to shield the gamin from the bullets. Bahorel and Prouvaire die fighting side by side when their barricade is overrun. Combeferre and Enjolras were the last to die, having been identified as leaders of the insurgents, and they died while bravely waving the tricolour.

 

Grantaire does not wake up on time, and he is left searching for the still-warm bodies of his comrades, cursing himself at every step.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently three days of power outages can do wonders with your productivity. Also, believe me when I say I felt positively sick writing his chapter.
> 
> A little explanation: The chapter number corresponds to the timeloop number. The Brick is considered Loop 0, hence the previous chapter which happened right after it is Loop 1.
> 
> I'm at [tumblr](http://doitsus-dandylions.tumblr.com), come and say hi! Or scream at me because of what I wrote, that also works.


	3. C: Turn the Hour Hand Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's tired and he wants to rest.

Marius tries. And tries again. He knows he’ll go back to the dawn of June 5th, but he tries. It is a vicious cycle of failure and death, a hell worthy of Sisyphus, and he sees no escape.

 

In one iteration, he avoids the barricades, avoids seeing the blood spilt in the name if the Republic. He walks around the Field of the Lark, then to the Luxembourg, he does everything to avoid going back to the rooms he shared with Courfeyrac, for he knows that Éponine is waiting for him there. And yet, not even this gave him the mercy of seeing the 7th of June.

In another, he goes to the address Cosette gave him in the letter, intent on telling her the truth, but he backs out at the last moment. He decides not to tell anyone, and bears the weight upon himself.

 

He tries to change things little by little. Tries to grab M. Mabeuf’s arm when he marches up to raise the flag, tries to be more careful so that Éponine would not take a bullet for him, but still he fails to end this hell.

 

He stopped waiting for the world to stop turning a long time ago, and by now, dozens of 5ths of June later, he is devoid of hope, more cynical than even Grantaire. Still, he goes to the barricades every time he awakes, and always there is that small glimmer of hope, that this will be the last time he goes through such an infernal day.

 

Today, on the 100th June 5th (he is not sure, for he has stopped counting a long time ago), he once again marches beside Courfeyrac and his friends. He does not stop M. Mabeuf when he spots him among the marchers, nor does try to tell Éponine to stay away from the barricade. He simply marches, and lets things run their course.

 

Everything happens as they are supposed to. Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire are dining in the Corinthe when they build the barricade. Javert is caught as a spy because of Gavroche, who takes his pistol.

He does nothing when an officer shouts _“Qui vive?”_ nor does he do anything when Enjolras replies with his strong voice “The French revolution!”

He merely crouches inside the barricade with his pistols when the first volley of gunshots rain upon them, nor does he stir when Bahorel falls the same way he always does.

He dares not stop M. Mabeuf when the old man volunteers to raise the fallen flag. He had no more tears to shed when the octogenarian once again falls in a blaze of gun powder.

 

As he did the first time, he uses up his two shots to save Gavroche and Courfeyrac. He remembers what he had done to save the barricade once upon a time, and he emulates it, even as he sees Éponine’s hand block the bullet from its path.

He enters the tap room and seizes the barrel of powder, located where it has always been, near the doorway. He goes out to battle, obscured by the smoke that filled their side of the barricade, and once again trudges towards the torch. He tears it away from the paving-stones supporting it, and carries it away with his free hand. He climbs to the top of the barricade, as he has always done, and now everyone stared at him, calculating what he was about to do.

He stood there, with his foot upon the stones, the torch in his hand, his face lacking in emotion, when he lowered the torch so that they barely touch the barrel, and shouted.

“Fall back! Fall back or I blow the barricade!”

Marius could feel everyone look at him with bated breath, as if afraid that the slightest sound would make him drop his torch. The army officer stares at him, and he returns the gaze, panting and filthy and _tired_ , tired of this repetition, and his eyes carried strength in them that he didn’t know he still had.

“Blow it up and take yourself with it!” the officer retorts, a mixture of fear and disbelief lacing his voice.

He pauses for a moment, but he is determined to do it. He won’t back down this time, for he has nothing left to lose.

His hand grips the torch tighter, as if it was afraid to let go. He replies, his voice stronger than it ever was. “And myself with it.”

He drops the torch straight toward the barrel, and everything disappears into smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update this time, and I swear this will be the last you'll see of the SADS arc (there is a pun to be made here, I think). If I actually follow my notes, the next chapters will be Marius actually trying to get to know the Amis. Meanwhile I got myself distracted and upset thinking up a Cosette-and-Enjolras-as-siblings AU where the end game is Enjolras singing ECAET because Papa Valjean was too late to save Enjolras' friends.


	4. CI: Un Brave Garçon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius tries again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprised? Me too. I thought the plot bunnies for this fic have long since fled, but here we are. Some of the dialogue has been lifted from the Hapgood translation of the Brick.

When Marius awakes once again on the morning of June the 5th to the sight of Courfeyrac’s vibrant green eyes staring intently at him, he is no longer surprised. Marius sighs as he sits up from the mattress loaned to him, the scent of his own burning flesh still lingering strong on his senses. Courfeyrac pouts at his friend’s action, no doubt wondering what the matter was.

“And what might be the problem, Monsieur l’Abbé? Has your paramour come to her sense at last and deserted you?” Courfeyrac teases, a glint of laughter in his eyes, his face still uncomfortably close to Marius’ own.

“It’s nothing,” Marius replies as he attempts to push Courfeyrac off him. Courfeyrac responds to this by doing an overdramatic routine of a hurt gasp and placing a hand over his heart. Marius scoffs and stands up, trying not to think of how his friend will die this time.

“So, are you coming to the funeral procession today?” Courfeyrac asks as he straightened out the wrinkles on his coat.

Marius shakes his head as he’s done dozens of time before, and that is all it takes for Courfeyrac to give him an indulging smile.

“Suit yourself, my friend. Tomorrow I shall see you in a new Republic,” Courfeyrac tells him as he reaches for his sword cane with one hand and his new top hat with the other. Thus accomplished, Courfeyrac turns back to Marius to wave him a farewell before exiting the apartment. The scene was reminiscent of all those June 5ths past, and it was all Marius could do to bite down on his tongue to prevent himself from making a sound. Courfeyrac never heeded any of his warnings in any of those previous times, anyway.

 

Marius was stumped on what to do now.

He finds it amusing that the first time he went to the barricades, he was willing to die for a cause he did not believe in, all because he thought that his beloved had deserted him. It feels like a bullet to the chest, his poetic soul would have said once, but now he knows how that really feels, when once he took a bullet meant for Bossuet.

He knows where Cosette stays during the riots, he has memorised the address, but he still returns to the barricades even though he desperately wants to run into her arms. It is out of habit, he claims, but deep in his heart he knows he now believes in the Republic, for whose sake his friends, and now himself also, were willing to pay for with their lives.

He decides that there must be a reason why the Almighty keeps on sending him back. But on what it is, he is still not certain.

And so Marius resolves to wait for the Thénardier girl and Cosette’s letter. He avoided her in most iterations after her first death and love confession, but he knows he can’t keep on doing so.

 

At around eleven in the morning, his waiting finally paid off when Mother Veuvain, their portress, knocks on the door to announce that there is an artisan looking for him. It was Éponine, dressed in a tattered blouse and patched trousers, the same thing she always wears in every iteration. No doubt it was exchanged with the first man she met on the street that morning.

Marius smiled, though not without pity, at the sight of the poor girl.

“Here you are, Éponine. Have you a message for me?”

Éponine looked surprised at his recognition of her, but quickly schooled her face back to a neutral expression.

Her voice faltered as she answered. “I have a letter from your beloved, Monsieur.” Marius could not help but notice how the girl spat out the word “beloved” or how her hands shook terribly as she reached for it in her coat pocket and pressed it into Marius’ waiting hand.

Before Éponine could scurry away from him, Marius grabbed her right arm. This action he has done a dozen times before, and so it feels almost natural now.

“The streets aren’t safe today, there is to be a riot. Stay with the portress and we shall talk later,” he told her.

Éponine was shaking her head, but Marius insisted.

“Please, Éponine.”

Calling her by her Christian name did the trick, as always. She agreed, and half-heartedly allowed Marius to escort her to Mother Veuvain’s quarters. The portress protested at this, but Marius pressed five francs on her palm to not let Éponine out of her sight and to buy some food for the two of them, and so the old portress relented.

 

Having taken leave of them, Marius started his walk around Paris. He has long memorized each passage and any secret alley the gargantuan city may have possessed, he was in fact, better than any gamin in navigating Paris now, and so knew where best to meet up with the cortège. He caught up with them in the Place Vendôme. Recognising Gavroche, who was perched atop Bahorel’s shoulders, Marius shouted at them.

“Gavroche!”

Gavroche kicked Bahorel who obligingly put the gamin down. Gavroche merrily skipped towards him.

“Hullo, who’s this? Ah, it’s you, freckle-face. What is it?” Gavroche rattled off.

“Will you do something for me?” Marius asked.

“Well, will I get something out of it?” Gavroche persisted.

Marius placed a five-franc piece on the gamin’s palm. “Does that answer your question?”

Gavroche grinned in response. “Alright, Citizen. What am I to do for you?”

“Take this letter to Rue de l’Homme Arme, No. 7. Afterwards, go to Mother Veuvain’s in the Rue de la Verrerie and stay there. Tell Mother Veuvain that Monsieur Pontmercy told her to keep an eye on you.”

Gavroche scowled at the last sentence but managed to give Marius a military salute before taking off with Marius’ given errand.

It was then that Courfeyrac approached him.

“If you are trying to make that boy stay away from the riots, you are doomed to fail, Monsieur l’Abbé. Gavroche is attracted to these sorts of things like a moth is drawn to a flame,” Courfeyrac smirked. “Though I see you have decided to join us in our own quest. Why the change of heart, Pontmercy?”

“You shouldn’t let gamins join you in your riots. They’ll get killed sooner or later. And as for your question, would you believe me if I said I was seduced by your winning charm?”

Courfeyrac’s smirk turned into a hearty laugh. “You are finally learning from me, Pontmercy! It needs a little more polishing, but see if you can’t get the grisettes swooning over you.”

Marius smiled sheepishly.

 

Their little band ended up building the barricade at the Corinthe on Bossuet’s suggestion, as they always do. Marius notices Javert hiding in the shadows and trying not to call any attention to himself. As there was a time when he accosted the spy alone and got shot as a result, Marius was now wary of Javert. He decided that the best course of action this time around was to tell Enjolras, the chief, directly, to avoid any loss of life.

“That man is a police spy, Enjolras,” Marius whispered in Enjolras’ ear.

Enjolras turned to face him and raise an eyebrow at reveal. “Are you certain, Pontmercy?”

“He was the one whom I reported the robbery at the Gorbeau hovel to. Courfeyrac surely would have mentioned it to you at some point.”

Enjolras nodded and closed his eyes in contemplation.

“Then we must secure this spy at once.”

Enjolras made a sign to the four broad-shouldered porters near him. In the twinkling of an eye, before Javert had time to turn round or realize what was going on, he was collared, thrown down, pinioned and searched.

A card was found on him, bearing on one side the arms of monarchical France and on the other his name, age, and police rank. Alongside this was also found some gold pieces and his pocket watch.

“Do you now deny who you are?” Enjolras asked.

Javert had not deigned it necessary to respond.

The search having been accomplished, Javert was now tied up on the post in the middle of the Corinthe.

At the sight of this little scene, the other members of l’ABC came running towards Enjolras.

“The man is a police spy. Your friend informed me,” Enjolras indicated to Courfeyrac.

Turning back to Javert, Enjolras said “You will be shot ten minutes before the barricade is taken.”

Javert responded in a superior tone. “Why not at once then?”

Enjolras shrugged. “We are saving up on gunpowder.”

“Then finish me off with a knife.”

“Monsieur L’Inspecteur,” Enjolras responded. “We are not assassins, but judges.”

 

Le Cabuc still joins the insurgents and kills the porter who would not let him in. This was also one of the things that remains constant however Marius tries to change them.

Enjolras captures Le Cabuc and swiftly executes him. Enjolras, pale, with bare neck and dishevelled hair, and his woman's face, had about him the aura of the antique Themis. His dilated nostrils, his downcast eyes, gave to his implacable Greek profile that expression of wrath and that expression of Chastity which, as the ancient world viewed the matter, befit Justice. He gazed down at his handiwork, then proclaimed in an unnaturally strong voice.

“Citizens, what this man has done is horrible, as is what I have done to him in return. It had to be done, however, for revolution must have discipline. As for myself, constrained as I am to do what I have done, and yet abhorring it, I have judged myself also, and you shall soon see to what I have condemned myself.”

A hush fell over their barricade, but Marius is sure that none will abandon them yet, he has seen this scene a hundred times before.

“We will share thy fate,” Combeferre cried out.

“So be it,” replied Enjolras.

 

Marius found that the hours of waiting for the battle to begin were always the hardest to live through. The barricade maintained a constant flurry of activity. Everyone tried to keep their hands busy, so as not to think about who will survive and who will perish in the morrow. Bahorel presided over the manufacture of ammunition, using Mother Hucheloup’s tankards. Mother Hucheloup sighed in response to this assault on her property. The women were sewing up linen to be used on the wounded. Sentinels were posted all over the barricade, and Enjolras was keeping watch atop the structure not unlike his namesake, the archangel Michael.

The other members of l’ABC, Marius among them, sought each other out in one corner of the shop, a couple of paces away from the barricade, carbines loaded and resting against the backs of their chairs. These young men, foremost among them Jehan Prouvaire, began to recite love verses.

 

_“Vous rappelez-vous notre douce vie,_

_Lorsque nous étions si jeunes tous deux,_

_Et que nous n'avions au cœur d'autre envie_

_Que d'être bien mis et d'être amoureux,_

_Lorsqu'en ajoutant votre âge à mon âge,_

_Nous ne comptions pas à deux quarante ans”_

While Jehan was reciting his apocalyptic sonnet, Courfeyrac inched slowly towards Marius.

“Well, Pontmercy? Do you remember the things Prouvaire just said?”

Marius smiled. “Of course. I remember when you first offered that I live with you.”

It wasn’t so much a lie, since Marius still remembers the days before he was sent back to live through an endless loop of June 5th, although those days were starting to fade from his memory, so long ago that they happened. By his own estimation, he has been living through this day for at least a year.

“And do you remember how that came to happen? Bossuet’s name got struck off Blondeau’s list for your sake. You ought to be thankful.”

“I never stopped being thankful for that. But enough about me. You already know my history, isn’t it time you shared yours?”

Courfeyrac sat cross-legged beside Marius. “Blunt as always, my friend. Well, if you insist.”

Courfeyrac reaches out for two oysters left over from Bossuet’s and Joly’s breakfast, then hands one to Marius, keeping one for himself. “Eat. This is going to be long and the night is still young.”

“Not unlike either of us,” Marius replies.

Courfeyrac shrugs at this. “Heh, you’re right.”

“You already know that my aristocrat father despairs of me being a reckless reprobate of a youngest son, right? What you probably don’t know is that I’m not the only problem child in our family.”

Marius at least has the decency to look shocked.

“Truth be told, he probably blames Lili for influencing me. Lili, Élisabeth, my eldest sister,” Courfeyrac produces his pocket book and from it a sketch of a young woman sharing Courfeyrac’s features. “When our mother died, she became the lady of the house. She raised the rest of us, and I was her favourite sibling growing up. She taught me everything, sums, writing, and yes, even my ideals. At eighteen, she eloped with a staunch Republican, and even though Father can’t disinherit her because of the Code, we were forbidden to ever speak of her.” Courfeyrac’s eyes were glistening.

“And? What happened to her after?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “I don’t know. Father cut off all contact with her when she eloped. I’ve been trying to find her ever since I came to Paris, but no luck.”

Marius smiled at his friend. “You’ll find her yet.”

 

Gavroche had returned, to Marius’ exasperation.

“Here they are!” the gamin shouted.

An electric quiver shot up all around the barricade, and everyone reached up for their carbines. At once, each man took up his own position in the barricade. All principal members of l’ABC, save for Feuilly, knelt inside the larger barricade, their heads on a level with the top of the barricade. Feuilly, along with some marksmen, was positioned on the top windows of the Corinthe.

A hush went over them, punctuated by the sounds of marching feet from the National Guardsmen outside. All at once, from the depths of this darkness outside, a voice which appeared to be the gloom itself, shouted, to the accompanying clicks of guns being lowered into position.

_“Qui vive?”_

Who lives? Marius did not know, for every time he goes back, the outcome always changes.

But Enjolras, that wild Antinoüs, knew the answer.

In a ringing voice, he cried out, _“_ _La_ _révolution française_ _!_ _”_

A flash surrounded all sides of the barricade, alongside it, the fearful detonation of gun powders bursting all at once. The red flag fell. The discharge from carbines had been so great that its pole had snapped in twine.

Bullets rebounded from the surrounding houses, penetrating their barricade and hurting several men. The impression produced by this first attack was unnerving to some. It was rough, and of a nature to inspire reflection in the boldest. From the amount of bullets hailing down on them, it was evident that they would be fighting an entire regiment to say the least.

“Comrades!” shouted Courfeyrac, “let us not waste gun powder. Let them waste their own first before we reply.”

“And, above all,” said Enjolras, “let us raise the flag again.” He picked up their flag, which had fallen precisely at his feet. Outside, the clatter of the ramrods in the guns could be heard; their enemies were reloading their guns.

Enjolras went on.

“Who here has a bold heart? Who will replant our flag?”

Marius stood up. If no one presented themselves, M. Mabeuf would surely volunteer and he would get himself killed. Marius walked straight towards Enjolras, the others parting to make a way for him. Enjolras handed him the flag, Marius nodded in response. Climbing the paving-stones that made a staircase towards the top of the barricade, Marius could feel all the eyes on him at every step.

When he had reached the last step, in the presence of innumerable and invisible guns, Marius drew himself up in the face of death, one he knows wouldn’t last, the whole barricade assumed amid the darkness, a supernatural and colossal form. Marius replanted the red flag on the omnibus.

The invisible voice called out. “Who goes there?”

Marius replied. _“Vive la République!”_

“Fire!”

Bullets rained on the barricade once again. Marius fell.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I also have a tumblr right [here](http://ranichi17.tumblr.com/).


End file.
